


There's A Hole

by Killmongersmistress (teakturn)



Series: The Horror of Love [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hypnosis, Implied/Referenced Sex, Knifeplay, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Torture, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/Killmongersmistress
Summary: There's a hole in the bucket, Dear Liza, dear LizaThere's a hole in the bucket, Dear Liza, a hole





	There's A Hole

**Author's Note:**

> *Do not steal or repost my work*

_There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole._

Rough, grabbing hands. Teeth around the sensitive bud of her nipple, her neck, her thighs. When she reaches for him he’s there, reaching right back, holding tight enough to bruise.

_So fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
So fix it, dear Henry, dear Henry, fix it._

Feral noises leave her mouth. Growls, whines, and squeals of pleasure in equal measure. She’s never been this loud before. No one had ever brought out this side before. No one, no one, no one...

_With what should I fix it, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
With what should I fix it, dear Liza, with what?_

He’d had a knife, she remembered. She’d never explored knife play before but she trusted his steady hand. She wanted to be cut by him, marked as his own. The bruises and hickeys were temporary, but a cut? She hopes it’ll scar.

_With straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
With straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, with straw._

**“Hi, sweetheart. How ya doin’?”**

When the knife sliced her flesh it burned in the best kind of way. There wasn’t even any pain, just a searing heat where her flesh had once been knitted together. They’d laughed together when the blood formed ruby red beads along the slash of skin. It looked almost pretty. 

He didn’t have to ask, and she knew he wouldn’t, but he cut her again and sent her into a fit of hysteric giggles.  
“Again!” she demanded

_But the straw is too long, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
The straw is too long, dear Liza, too long._

**“Can you follow the light for me, sweetie? There’s a girl! Good girl!”**

She’d become a bloody mess by the time he turned the knife on himself. He pointed at the scars patterned all over his chest and torso. He told her what they meant, told her he’d been thinking of adding her to the list.

“Will you think of me if you do?”

It took him a long time to answer that.

_So cut it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
So cut it, dear Henry, dear Henry, cut it!_

**“Hello Odessa Joy, how are we feeling today. Cooperative I hope?”**

**“....I tried feeding her but I didn’t want to force the issue.”**

**“You did the right thing. We don’t want her getting agitated. If she doesn’t eat soon we’ll be sure to let them know to double up on her dinner.”**

**“No need, there’s a new nurse on duty so he’ll be bringing her a second chance at lunch after your session.”**

**“Does he...is he aware of her condition?” **

**“No more than he has to be, Dr. Duke.”**

**“Good, good. It’s...for the best.”**

_With what should I cut it, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
With what should I cut it, dear Liza, with what?_

It’s then that Odessa comes back to her body. Her mind had been floating, detached from the sinking weight of her body in the chair she was tied to. For a moment she’d been lost in her memories. She’d almost smiled at the thought of ...damn. What was his name?

_With an ax, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
With an ax, dear Henry, an ax._

The nurse leaves Odessa with her father, her doctor, without a backward glance. The “good” doctor takes his time setting up for his session. As the director of the institution, he could have sessions for as long as he liked and then justify it easily if anyone thought something was off. Of course, that’s assuming he was holding a regular person under lock and key, and not his poor, sick daughter.

Odessa would gag but they’d put a leather belt in her mouth to keep her from biting her tongue during her last therapy session and “forgot” to take it out. The belt makes her drool like a teething toddler and it’s just the icing on the cake of the shitstorm that is Odessa’s existence. She hated the slick, wet feeling of her own drool. Especially when there’s no hope in sight of wiping it off.  
Finally ready, Dr. Duke carefully took his seat in front of the chair Odessa had been strapped to and began the session.  
“Listen to my voice…..”

_But the ax is too dull, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
The axe is too dull, dear Liza, too dull._

The memories, so vivid when she’d gotten out of bed this morning, now nothing but vague, gray recollections of a past Odessa wasn’t entirely sure she’d actually experienced. She was in a mental institution, after all, there had to be something wrong with her.  
Why else would her father strap her to a chair if she wasn’t a danger to herself and everyone around her?

_So, sharpen it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
So sharpen it, dear Henry, dear Henry, sharpen it!_

“So, now that we’ve finished is there anything you’d like to tell me,” Dr. Duke carefully removed the leather belt from her mouth. Odessa’s jaw ached and the front of her shirt was dark from all the excess drool, but she felt freer than she had in hours. 

She couldn’t remember why they’d put the belt in her mouth, though. Whenever Odessa tried to retrace her memories back to when they first put it in she found nothing but a black hole. A nothingness so complete and resolute she’d be worried if it wasn’t for her dad, the only man she can trust in the whole world, standing in front of her and still waiting for her response.

“I feel-” her voice cracked when she spoke. Odessa paused and cleared her throat before continuing. “I feel bad that I’m here. And I don’t know why. But you’re going to fix me right, dad?”

Her father smiled, “Of course baby girl.

_With what should I sharpen it, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
With what should I sharpen, dear Liza, with what?_

When they trust her enough to stop strapping her down in every chair she sits in, Odessa feels brave enough to ask what led to her being locked up in the first place. She didn’t remember enough of her life before the chair, the straight jacket, and the belt gag to ask anything else but she _knows_, knows like nothing in this world that she doesn’t belong with her fellow inmates.

Odessa was capable of functioning just fine on her own in her mind. She could cook, as evidenced by the experiment with the hotplate she’d stumbled on to in the breakroom of the facility. And she had reasons for her actions, the irrefutable proof was in the instant pudding mix she'd burned that set off the fire alarm, to begin with. It just didn’t make sense to her. And her dad said he’d explain everything to help her sort out her feelings when she was ready.

Odessa felt ready now but something in her made it impossible to talk back to her father. So when he dismissed or redirected her questions she let it go, hoping eventually he’d deem her well enough to tell her just what the fuck is wrong with her.

_Use the stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
Use the stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, the stone._

The first confirmation she has that something is off with the story she's fed is when she’s allowed to sleep in her own room instead of under surveillance in the max security wing. Her room is as bare as she expected any room in this institution to be. Yet when she lifted the mattress she found a slip of black markered paper. 

Red-brown stains covered what was legible on the page, but one name stood out amongst the mess as if highlighted. E R I K

_But the stone is too dry, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
The stone is too dry, dear Liza, too dry._

Odessa became obsessed with finding out who Erik was. She didn’t dare ask her father, afraid that he would put her back in a straightjacket, or worse. 

So she attended therapy when she was instructed, ate her meds when told, and turned out the lights at curfew. Odessa was obedient to a fault, more proof that she really didn’t deserve to be around the rest of the patients. Odessa could choose to behave. The people around her, the people she ate meals with and shared a communal bathroom with, had no choice in their behavior because of their disorder or some kind of psychosis they’d had no hope of controlling. Not without round the clock monitoring and scheduled therapy time.

Then again, Odessa thoughts turned to the blood-stained paper still underneath her mattress, maybe she was just better at faking it.

_So wet it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
So wet it, dear Henry, dear Henry, wet it._

Odessa lays eyes on Erik for the first time when she's handed her sketch pad for art therapy. There's no proof that he's in the mess of limbs and skin, but she knows that's it's supposed to be them. There's a page filled with pictures of his lips, full and soft looking.  
The Odessa who's drawn these sketches never drew his face, but somehow she knew she'd been in love with him. Whoever he was.  
How had they met? Was he someone from the life she couldn't remember before the institute. Or had he been a patient like her? Odessa didn't find the answer that therapy session but she felt changed. No matter who she was before who she was now only had one goal.

Finding Erik.

_With what should I wet it, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
With what should I wet it, dear Liza, with what?_

Her father noticed the change in her immediately. Odessa still participated in therapy, she was still docile and didn't act bratty during her one on one therapy sessions. But she was restless. Odessa couldn't get Erik out of her mind. Mostly she thought about the absence of him and what that meant.

"Odessa Joy, I have been trying to talk to you for the last five minutes are you even listening to me?" Dr. Duke snapped.  
Odessa retreated into her mind and let her mouth take over, "Sorry dad it's the pills. The latest dose makes it hard for me to concentrate or something." She rubbed her temple for emphasis.

Her hands caught in the knots of her hair, neglected because she didn't shower alone anymore. She wished for braids but her father forbid them. It's not like she had any products with which to pull off the style anyway.

Her father made a note on the clipboard and by their next session, her meds had been adjusted again. The change in dosage actual did change how she felt. The slow sluggishness Odessa hadn't realized was holding her back was replaced with an awareness she wasn't used to.

She felt no changes in her mood though. Made her wonder what the point of the pills was after all.

_With water, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
With water, dear Henry, dear Henry, water._

In her dreams, she's surrounded by Erik. His strong, bloodstained hands gripping her narrow hips, the meaty parts of her thighs, her throat. Odessa's sheets are slick with sweat and her own nectar.

It's not the last time she dreams of him and wakes up wet. It is, however, the first time she realizes she shouldn't be feeling arousal at all. Her father had told her bluntly as soon as she could retain her memories that she was a dangerous sex addict who put herself and others in harm's way to sate her needs.

The drugs, be continued while injecting her himself, were to help her and allow her to function without thinking of sex all the time.  
At the time sex, and arousal had been so distant from Odessa's mind she hasn't realized that there was an absence there. Where the attraction and lust should be was only barren greyness. 

When she dreams of Erik arousal practically burns her to her core. It makes her hate and love him even more. It makes her ache for not just his dick but his presence. 

Odessa never touched herself these nights. She burned and she ached but she didn't touch.

_With what should I carry it, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
With what should I carry it dear Liza, with what?_

Odessa isn't hiding her arousal well. She hears them talking when they think she's asleep. Her sessions with her father are getting longer, more intensive. He's pushing for something he knows she's keeping from him and Odessa doesn't know how much longer she can hold out.

"She's dreaming of Erik again," her father sounded agitated.

"You haven't been able to convince her to forget him?" This voice was familiar but Odessa couldn't place it. It was feminine & it could have been anyone a doctor, a nurse, even a security guard.

"I can't find the root of her obsession with him. If I could I'd unravel it." Dr. Duke's voice went dark.

"There has to be some outside stimuli. Has he tried to contact her since escaping?"

Dr. Duke scoffed and he changed the subject just as it was finally getting interesting.

_Use the bucket dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,  
Use the bucket, dear Henry, dear Henry, the bucket!_

When she was allowed back to her room after her session Odessa ate the file. It wasn't her last tie to Erik, but she knew if they found out they'd make sure to obliterate him from her mind for good.

For a long time, Odessa played by their rules; she took the pills they gave her, allowed her father to hypnotize her over and over again, and held onto Erik by the tips of her fingers.

She only lived in her dreams of Erik.

_There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,  
There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole._

When it was time for her usual hypnosis session with Dr. Duke, Odessa pocketed a paint scraper from art therapy. He began their sessions as they always did, and Odessa blocked his access to her mind by thinking of a repetitive nursery rhyme. She had fragments of memories of their time together, and she held onto those as Dr. Duke tried to make her slip under.

"Dad?"

"Just a minute baby girl let's focus on starting the session,"

"Mmm," Odessa pretend to think and then she launched herself at him. With one hand she covered his mouth as she used her other hand to slam the paint scraper into his thigh.

Dr. Duke jerked and cried out in pain around Odessa's hand. She moved behind his chair, out of reach of his hands and wrapped her arm around his neck.

"Try to move and I'll yank it out and plunge it into your heart." Odessa felt the doctor, her father, freeze in his seat. Tiny, muffled noises of pain still left his mouth but he made no move to attack her.

"I'm going to leave, but first; I want my memories back," Odessa growled into his father's ear. She moved her hand off his mouth to let him speak.

"I'd have to put you back under t-"

"Not gonna happen." Odessa twisted the paint scraper and clasped her hand over his mouth to muffle his scream.

"Find another way!"

Weakly the doctor pointed at his clipboard. It had fallen at some point. Odessa eyed it hungrily.

"Pick it up," She ordered. The doctor struggled, she refused to let go of her grip on the paint scraper and he could hardly move without aggravating the pain in his leg.

Eventually, he was able to lift it with his fingertips and held it up for Odessa. She snatched it out of his grip and shoved it down the front of her beige, cotton pants. There was no clock in here but Odessa could feel every second tick by like each second was a year off her life. She was anxious to flee. 

Her father's office was the closest to the parking lot and the gate leading off-campus. She could go that way if she wanted to be caught immediately but she knew better. Her best ticket out was the old atrium. It'd been closed and boarded up because of budget cuts. But it's windows faced the forest behind the institute, a dangerous but quicker way to freedom.

One last thing, "What happened the night Erik left?"

Her father cursed, "Of course. You know he's not thinking of you, right? You know-ahh!"

Odessa twisted and yanked the paint scraper out of his thigh before plunging it back into his uninjured thigh.

"He came to me!" She insisted, she pulled the paint scraper out before stabbing down again. The doctor howled in pain and Odessa did nothing to muffle his screams. She wanted to hear every weak, blood-curdling howl forever. It was only fair after all he'd taken from her.

"What did he say! Where did he go!" Odessa yanked her father's head back and brought the point of the paint scraper to his neck. Blood dripped off her petite fingers, down her arm and all over her socked feet.

It took the doctor a moment to catch his breath, a moment Odessa didn't have. She pressed the paint scraper to his neck and Dr. Duke began babbling.

"H-he killed the guards and nurses o-on his way to you! You two ...fornicated and then he murdered his way out of here," Dr. Duke grit is teeth and panted. Odessa didn't know much about the human body but she doubted she had long before he'd pass out from the pain and blood loss.

"Did he say anything else?" Odessa demanded. The doctor paused but began speaking before Odessa could lose her temper and stab him in his neck out of impatience.

"H-he said ...he sa-" Dr. Duke began. Odessa could tell he wouldn't be good for much else in a moment. She needed to make her escape soon. Someone would have heard him by now.

"Hurry the fuck up!"

"He said he might come back for you because ...because…" the doctor was stalling for time. Odessa let him know she was on to him by moving the paint scraper from his neck to his still bleeding, abused thighs.

He flinched, cursed and hissed in pain, but continued. Her threat had been received.

"You were the best 'piece of ass' he ever had." The doctor finally finished.

Odessa's lip twitched. She had to find him, she'd been planning to look for him as soon as she made her escape but now she knew for certain. She had to find him and never leave his side again.

"Thank you, that's the first time you've ever done something for me because I wanted it." Odessa kissed her father on his sweaty temple, and with her lips still pressed to his skin, she plunged the paint scraper into his neck.


End file.
